My first car was a 1967 Ford Mustang. I was a high school senior and it was my graduation gift from my parents. My dad had been to the Ford dealership for some other reason. That evening he told me while he was there that he got to talking to the salesman and he showed him this Mustang. He was offered what he called a good deal on it and he thought he’d get it for me. I couldn’t believe it! My older brother David already had a 1965 Mustang. I don’t know if he bought that himself or if my parents helped. I was very naive and uninformed about financial matters back then.
The cars most of my friends drove were older model cars, handed down to them or bought used with what little money they had from part-time jobs, or help from parents. They were huge long cars. Some with big fins on the back. The small sporty Mustang was nothing like what we were used to. It became a favorite as soon as Ford released it.
I wish I could say that I understood it wasn’t what kids in my middle class neighborhood normally got for graduation. By middle class I don’t mean what’s considered middle class today but the modest middle class lifestyle of the 1960s. A brick home with maybe 1400-1600 sq ft on a quiet street in a new subdivision. Small lots, one tree planted by the builder in the front yard. A chain link fence in the back yard. Working class people who took vacations close to home or to visit relatives.
But I had no grasp of what kind of money my parents had or of what anything cost. I knew we were better off than when we lived in Monroe, Louisiana where I shared a bedroom with my three sisters and our baby brother’s crib was in our room also. But I didn’t really know if it stretched my parents to buy me this car or if it was an easy purchase.
My car was a burgundy color. I don’t think it was a popular color, not like the cherry red ones you see a lot at car shows now. It wasn’t my favorite color but it didn’t matter, I loved it! Only one problem. It had a standard transmission and I didn’t know how to drive it!
My friend and fellow student David Krupa taught me how to drive it. He lived across the street from us. He bravely sat in the passenger seat as the Mustang jerked along, often dying, while I tried to learn to use the clutch and shift gears. Our heads bobbing back and forth with each gear change! Sometimes when I’m going down one of the high mountain passes here and downshift to control my speed I think about learning to drive a standard back when my friend and I were kids and with the confidence - or ignorance - of youth, jumped in the little burgundy Mustang and headed down our street in a car I didn’t know how to drive.
I only had the Mustang a year. I got married the summer after high school and by the next summer I had a baby. We needed a bigger more practical car and replaced it with a Plymouth Satellite. I’m not sure that was more practical but it was bigger. I’ve had a lot of cars and pickups since then. Some I hated, some I liked, and a very few I loved. Most I’ve forgotten. But I’ll never forget the little burgundy mustang and the time I was innocent of the world and the cost of things, and how lucky I was and didn’t realize it.
